Twelve Stages
by Zoicytes-Shadow
Summary: BeautyPain. Mazikeen through The Endless
1. Melt

Z/N: Mazikeen and The Endless do not belong to me, Neil Gaiman discovered them.

I'm going to keep writing Mazzy. She needs to be written

I. Melt

She bends down in the wind, a solitary figure once more. Being used to loneliness is worse than loneliness itself. A butterfly moves against the wind current, followed by another, and yet another. Soon there are five butterflies hovering around her. She reaches up to touch one. It alights on her palm and dissolves into ash. The rest quickly follow the same fate. She cries out, heartbroken by this smallest of things. The girl walks over to her. "You broke my Butterflies. Why did you break my Butterflies?" She asks, a bit put off, but mostly curious. "Eye did not mean tew..." Mazikeen replies, arms now clutching her own frame tightly, afraid that if she lets go, she will dissolve just like the butterflies.


	2. Shatter

II. Shatter

She cries, long and hard on Desire's carpet. The androgynous Endless looks slightly annoyed at this strange reaction to its realm, and reaches for a bottle of wine. Desire pours itself a glass, and takes a long sip, then casually throws the glass aside. A shatter much like the breaking of a heart rings out, and Mazikeen wails louder. "Come on, Mazzy! Is crying on my plush carpet what you truly desire?" The Endless asks, exasperated. It slides down and sashays over to the demoness, linking an arm around her waist. "You're a hopeless wreck, you know that? You were just in Del's realm, and now you're making huge puddles on my floor. Not the kind of wet I like to inspire." Mazikeen looks up, tears flowing down her eye. "Eye can never..have rhat eye ..deshire." Desire shakes its head. "You're such a head case. I don't know if you'll even accept my help. If I help you, you'll probably just refuse it." It sighs crossly, and forces it's lips upon Mazikeens, soft velvet wine meeting rising sorrow. Her crying continues. Desire lets her loose. "You're such a screw up." Mazikeen latches onto Desire's lithe form. "Yeah, Yeah. Whatever." Desire grins, lighting a cigarette.


	3. Cut

Cut

The pain never ceases. It needs somewhere to go. She stabs through the corpse, blood and anger running one and the same onto the street of fire. In saving one, she condemned another. It could reduce a mind to shreds thinking about it. Slice, flick, stab, wrench. Every movement is rash and uncalculated. There is no one in the street any more. For a moment her mind realizes that she was only pretending there was in the beginning, it was all Destruction. She cares not that he left his post, things will continue almost the same as always. The corpse is too ragged to identify anymore. She withdraws her knife and slices her arm now. Adrenaline barely touches the surface. She digs deeper. If he was here, he would at least stop her, ask her why she's devoting her energy to him, but he is gone. And will be. And she can never be.


	4. Deep

Deep

Thoughts grow violent in her mind, then still. Calm gives way to Despair. Desire's strange twin welcomes a frequent visitor to her realm. There is no joy in the greeting for either of them. Mazikeen is alone even in loneliness. Damp, the walls cry out to be touched, saddened by their own features. She is aware, like so many others, that she will never be touched. Her knife glints beckoningly in this strange gray area. Cold steel promises at least temporary relief. Everything is temporary, she reminds herself as she picks it up, slashing through flesh decaying and pale. Every so often blood emerges. Wiping it away is a waste of effort. It is an art, focusing solely on pain. All else melts away, releasing it's frail hold onto consciousness with a faint cry of grief, and she falls, exhausted...


	5. Pull

Pull

"You have had a rough day." The Lord of the Dreaming comments almost soothingly. He waves his arm, and the dull throbbing pain is gone. She says nothing, there is too much to say. In his realm her own quiet place is almost heaven, dark and secluded from all but Dream himself. She doesn't like to dream. There is no wonder there that will not happen when she is awake. A slight cold marks the passing of his fingers along her shoulder. As far apart as they are is just as close as they are. He knows her feeling, even if not how to express it. It is neither a comfort nor unease that Endless as well experience regret and longing in her tired stage. She has not lifted her eyes from the ground. He knows her mind is refusing to gather anything more. He stands with her there for what could pass as mere minutes or pure hours until she once again passes...


	6. Deliberation

Deliberation

Destiny waits stoic for the page to turn. It is an unusual course, which would alert interest if he had not abandoned that ability long ago. She does not like it in his garden, it is obvious in the way she refuses to look at anything around her. Her mind is clouded, thoughts twining into one which drip down to die on slated ground. Destiny waits. He is aware of Delirium in the corner, anxious. Desire is there as well, cold and calculating, ready at any minute should it please to twist her all over again and prolong it's playtime. Dream is not there, but Destiny senses his presence. They do not have the patience of the eldest of the Endless. Mazikeen does not care. Once she may have in some small way, tucked beneath layers of decay. Now her thoughts all focus on one. Destiny senses the shift in his sibling's manners, and as Desire touches it's tongue to a perfect finger, Dream manifests in the garden, and Delirium's gloves dissolve into decaying butterflies, Destiny turns the page.


	7. Compromise

Compromise

"I knew you would show up." Death says, lying down by Mazikeen, idly playing with her hand. Lucifer does not respond. She is Death, after all. What response is there? "Some of us say this is all your fault." Death continues, giving him a glance that is unreadable. It merely irritates the demon lord. "And what is your opinion?" Death grins, alarming at the same time it is comforting. "Me? I have no real opinion compared to, say, Desire. SisBro wants to keep Mazzy around. I doubt the goodwill of the gesture, but the opinion seems to be shared by most of the others." Lucifer's gaze is now on Mazikeen, who has not moved during the entirety of the time they have been there. He knows she is in half sleep, close to the edge. Any slight imbalance will push or pull. "Why is it that you've taken such an interest in her?" Death flicks some of her hair back. "We've been around far too long for ordinary things to impress us. We think she's notable, all things considered." That was the closest to an invitation to convince her to keep Mazikeen alive that he would ever get. "She is not ready to die." He remarks, formulating a plan. Death's smile reveals she knows all about his idea. "Ready in mind, and sometimes that's all it really takes." Lucifer hesitates. Death sighs. "Come on, even worms can show some sort of fondness for a certain type of soil. Being all high and mighty as you are, I would imagine that you can love her." An insult and warning all wrapped into a neat package. "I am able to find a certain amount of fondness for things." Lucifer replies haughtily. "Really?" Death remarks dryly, only her eyes giving any hint of her goodwill. "I don't believe it." It is almost at a conclusion. He plays his part well. "What better way to find out than to try?" A large grin crosses Death's face. "Is that so? I think it's worth a try then..."


End file.
